Ironborn (1)

Entering the tent, Suleiman saw Lord Raymun Darry sitting at the head of the table, with Ser Ronald standing to the side.

The two parties exchanged probing gazes.

Raymun Darry had long brown hair and a handsome face; though his frame was not particularly tall, he appeared quite powerful.

His eyes were no different from those of an ordinary man, yet at this moment, they were fixed directly upon him.

Suleiman, however, felt as if an invisible pressure were bearing down on him, as if this aggressive stare were trying to see through him from the inside out.

Just as Suleiman was about to buckle under this invasive scrutiny and offer his most "sincere apologies" for his petty pilfering, Ser Ronald, noticing his jittery demeanor, spoke up quickly.

"Lord Suleiman, there is no need to be nervous. Lord Raymun simply wishes to learn more about the Ironborn from you, so that we may be well-prepared."

So he only wanted to ask about the Ironborn?! Damn it! Just say so! I was wondering, why would a lord of such stature care about a bit of petty theft!

Raymun Darry's gaze remained on Suleiman, carrying a hint of curiosity.

"Your father and brothers all fell on the battlefield?"

Suleiman was somewhat bewildered by the question.

Why would Lord Raymun ask about this?

He had never met this lord before and truly could not fathom the man's intentions.

Nevertheless, he replied respectfully: "Yes, Lord Raymun."

Raymun Darry did not press further immediately; he simply lowered his head slightly, lost in thought, as if recalling something.

The atmosphere inside the tent grew somewhat awkward.

Seeing the situation, Ser Ronald of Fruitwood hurriedly interjected, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, while also expressing a hint of confusion and surprise: "I heard that you went to the battlefield as well? And nearly died? But you are only sixteen!"

Ronald had never heard of a noble family that would send every male heir to the battlefield without leaving a single one behind; it was simply foolish!

Suleiman understood Ser Ronald's perspective; it certainly did not align with the standard practice of Westeros nobility to preserve their bloodlines.

But his father had his own convictions.

"Even a ten-year-old boy can pick up a weapon to harm another."

"When my father swore his oath of fealty to the Lord of Deddings, he made a vow."

"With the Seven as my witness, once the lord calls, all in the family capable of holding a sword shall answer, even if it means the end of our bloodline."

Suleiman pursed his lips slightly.

"My family lacks a deep cultural heritage; this is an oath of loyalty passed down by my ancestors. Though the words are plain, to us, they weigh heavier than a mountain."

"What kind of men were your father and brothers?" Raymun Darry suddenly interrupted, cutting off Suleiman's explanation of the oath.

His gaze seemed to want to peer through Suleiman's eyes to see those who had already passed.

"Ah, very good men, my lord," Suleiman answered briefly.

He truly did not want to delve into this topic; he was not close to House Darry, and it had nothing to do with the current discussion.

He only wanted to steer the conversation back to the main point: the Ironborn, the war, and the information he could provide.

Ser Ronald seemed to notice Suleiman's reluctance to speak further.

He coughed twice and took up the thread at the right moment: "Lord Suleiman, you have been traveling with us for some time now; surely you have observed the soldiers of Darry. In your opinion, how do our men compare to the Ironborn?"

Ronald's intent was clear.

Suleiman was silent for a moment, then looked at Raymun Darry.

"Does Lord Raymun wish to hear the truth?"

A look of amusement appeared on Raymun Darry's face.

He asked with interest: "Oh?"

Suleiman twitched the corners of his mouth, forcing a sunny smile: "My lord's soldiers could each take on ten Ironborn, treating them like pigs, dogs, cattle, or sheep. The moment you give the order, they will leave the enemy without a single scrap of armor intact."

These words were absurdly exaggerated, filled with the typical bravado of pre-war posturing.

Ser Ronald's expression began to darken.

Raymun Darry watched Suleiman quietly, his eyes seeming to say, I know this is a lie.

The smile on Suleiman's face faded, and his tone became calm and cold.

This was his true feeling, recalling the battle at Seaguard: "The truth is, the soldiers of Darry are the ones being taken on ten-to-one by the Ironborn! Treated like pigs, dogs, cattle, and sheep!"

Having said that, he fell silent, simply watching the two nobles before him.

"Nonsense!" Ser Ronald slammed his hand on the table and shouted.

His face was flushed with rage, his beard trembling slightly.

He suddenly felt that letting the lord consult a sixteen-year-old boy was the most foolish thing he had ever done in his life!

What could a sixteen-year-old child possibly know about real war!

Suleiman merely pursed his lips slightly without retorting, as if to say, "See? I knew you would say that."

Raymun Darry ignored Sir Ronald's fury, his gaze remaining locked on Suleiman.

He asked with some surprise, "Why do you say that?"

He wanted to know the basis for this young man's judgment.

"My Lord!" Sir Ronald still tried to intervene.

"Let him speak!" Raymun Darry raised a hand, stopping Ronald.

He then looked back at Suleiman, signaling with his eyes for him to continue.

Suleiman understood that this was the moment he had to explain himself clearly.

He did not answer the reason directly, but instead prepared to explore a most fundamental question.

A question regarding the nature of an army: why fight, and what do they fight for?

"My Lord, how many men are in your army?" he asked.

Raymun Darry did not answer directly, instead looking toward Sir Ronald at his side.

Although Sir Ronald was annoyed, he had to provide an explanation under the gaze of Lord Raymun.

He glared at Suleiman, as if wanting to kill this arrogant boy with his eyes alone!

Only then did he look at Suleiman with pride and say slowly, "We have over four hundred light infantry! More than one hundred heavy infantry! And over thirty knights!"

To be able to mobilize so many soldiers under a liege lord's summons was already a sign of considerable loyalty.

He was exceptionally irritated, preparing to listen to Suleiman's radical nonsense so he could refute it at any moment.

Suleiman's face remained calm after hearing these numbers.

He did not comment on the quantity, but instead looked at Sir Ronald, stared directly into his eyes, and asked a very simple question.

"How many of those soldiers know why they are fighting, and what they are fighting for?"

Sir Ronald was stunned, as if he had not expected this boy to throw out such an inexplicable question, then he puffed out his chest and turned toward Raymun Darry.

He raised his head and said in a tone filled with arrogance, "My Lord! The soldiers of Darry! They are all men willing to fight and die for House Darry!"

Watching the way Sir Ronald of Fruitwood spoke with such certainty and self-satisfaction, Suleiman could not help but feel a sense of shame on his behalf.

Old man, have you no shame? he muttered silently to himself.

But he knew that the most difficult people to deal with were the shameless ones, and at this moment, he had to say something that could stand on firmer ground.

He took a deep breath, grumbling inwardly, but his tone calmed down as his face returned to a smile, looking at Sir Ronald with a hint of amusement.

"Is that true, Sir Ronald?"